Pomegranate and Peppermint
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Don't be caught off guard when the rapture comes... COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Introspection was a difficult thing to deal with. As simply as it slipped into the mind, it was a bitch to get rid of. One could be stuck on a single topic for years without coming to a real conclusion. One could succumb to the comfort of introspection without even knowing it, second guessing and over analyzing at every turn.

Introspection was often the addiction of scientists and mathematicians, people who couldn't allow the little things to slip by.

Gil Grissom was clearly well acquainted with this tool of the mind. Had it been a person, Grissom would have invited it out for a scotch in a quiet little bar and ruminated with it for hours while they both steeped in cigar smoke and sadness.

Often times, Grissom lost time because he over analyzed things. He would sit down at his desk and ponder the pros and cons of certain ballpoint pens; which wrote smoother, which had the least smudge. Coming to, long minutes later he'd wonder where the time had slipped to, only to find that it had ticked off and he was no closer to finding the superior writing implement.

Frequently, he lost sleep due to his fascination with every facet of a problem, with thinking a problem to absolute death. A personal query about an insect could have him tossing and turning all morning; he'd have himself frustrated and wrapped in the sweaty sheets as the alarm sounded, letting him know that work was imminent, that he was no closer to an answer.

He'd get snagged on her smile; she had so very many of them, different ones for different occasions. Sometimes he'd think about them in the solace of his office, wondering about that one particular grin, the one she had sent his way for no particular reason. What did it mean? Hours could be lent to deciphering her many smiles, the low noises she would make in the back of her throat as she reviewed evidence.

He wondered why he felt so comfortable being a passive observer, watching her from the wings. The shadows hid him as his eyes traveled over her body, delved into the facets of her eyes. A type of gentle voyeur, finding appreciation and reprieve from her simple curves, from the slight lilt of her voice.

He enjoyed watching and then going home to think about all he had seen. The simple pulse point on her throat kept him enraptured under the covers for hours as he formed complex equations based on how many times her heart beat per minute. Sixty-six beats per minute; Grissom wondered how big Sara's heart really was, if there was truly room for his many idiosyncrasies and mood swings in that tiny organ.

His mind liked to form random scenarios. Moments in time where she would challenge him and he would accept, finally allowing himself to feel the cool breeze from the edge as he tossed himself over. In those little skits in his head, he was witty and willing and her mouth tasted like pomegranate and peppermint.

There were so many things wrong with him, he was sure of it. He was wholly sure that his temperamental side would get on her nerves; he was positive that his emotional issues were too much for her to handle. Or was he? That was unfair of him to automatically assume things about her. If he was completely honest with himself he knew that Sara would help him work through his problems. That was what stuck with him-the fact that she was so willing to accept him just as he was without intervention.

Fidelity wasn't something he wouldn't have to worry about as he had in the past. Being normal wasn't something that mattered because neither of them were and he was damned sure that neither of them really wanted to be. It was no longer a question of logistics and timing, but a question of 'why not?'

It struck Gil Grissom then, in a moment of ambient clarity that while Sara Sidle might be willing to wait an eternity for him, he wasn't willing to believe he could actually manage to make her wait that long. 


	2. I

It had become difficult to wrap her tongue around the word 'hello' that morning. The thought was there inside of her mind, the congenial greeting was so easy to slip off the tongue. But when she saw his face, tears hovering on the edge of his beard, she couldn't bear to voice that one word.

The diner was blissfully quiet and wonderfully upscale and Sara found herself for one moment pulled towards the warm coffee smell emanating from the kitchen. Then she was pulled back in by the warm cinnamon that his body gave off, to his low breathing, his broken frame.

He had asked her to meet him there, voice low, eyes even lower, somewhere on the floor. They needed to talk, he said, about so many things. He had to get it all out before it killed him; and it was, killing him, he said. It was eating away at him, painfully, endlessly, hopelessly.

Sara sat down slowly, giving him a chance to react-somehow, anyhow-but when he didn't she sighed and placed her hands on top of his on the table. It was a long, warm moment as they sat there, nearly hand in hand. But not, never hand in hand, never walking along together.

As Sara glanced down at the table, he glanced up and his eyes were drawn to the angry scratches on her face, the bandaged wound on her upper arm. 'Careless,' he thought, but even as he thought it he knew it wasn't true. It wasn't her carelessness, it was the world's.

Just two years ago an officer had failed to properly secure the scene and Catherine was attacked. The LVPD now had another mark on its record...

Earlier that evening veteran officer David Crantz had failed to check both the basement and the attic of a home that Greg, Sara and Grissom were about to investigate. 

The man who had descended on Sara had been big, utterly enraged, half of his body covered by black cotton, the other half donning blatant camouflage. In her defense, she had done her best to fight him off, but that had only enraged him more. She screamed, and screamed and on the third scream both Grissom and Greg went dashing into the home, every hair on both of their bodies standing completely on end.

Greg had dashed into the center of the room and yelled, successfully distracting the man enough that he pulled himself off of Sara and went for Greg. Thinking quickly, on the verge of a nervous breakdown he fired his weapon at the ceiling and the perp froze just as Jim Brass rushed in to take the man down.

But Sara was already on the floor, bleeding from a wound to her head and a stab to her arm. Her breaths were shallow and as her eyes fluttered shut the last thing she saw was Greg scrambling on hands and knees to reach her.

Grissom just stood and watched as police and paramedics buzzed around him, Greg speaking words of evidence and contamination and ambulances. 'Hospital,' he yelled, 'one of us has to go to the hospital!' But Grissom, he just stood there and surveyed the wreckage, the near carnage. Greg took one look at his supervisor, glared and followed Sara into the ambulance, shaking his head and wondering what the hell was wrong with Grissom.

He'd come to soon enough in order to collect the evidence and yell at Brass a few times, and then trudged back to the lab, ignoring the questions he received. Grissom sat in his office for the next few hours, called the hospital a few times and brooded in that particular way he was prone to do. 

Sara had returned to the lab later that week, bandaged and sore but no more worse for the wear. Grissom seemed to be the one who was coming unglued. Years of stress began to gnaw at his skull, prompting the beginnings of what he knew was bound to be a migraine. That's when he had decided to unload, unhinged, let it all flow; that is why he asked her to breakfast. If they had to sit at the table until it was time for work again, the air would be clear, if not just for him then completely for her. 

The waitress ambled over to their table and still, Grissom did not speak. Sara took the opporunity to order them both waffles and coffee and sat back in the booth, hands still on his waiting for him to speak. The lines on his face would not let up and made him look ten years older. She wanted nothing more than to reach forward and smooth them from his face, tell him that she was fine. Sore, true, but fine.

The coffee came before he had a chance to gather all of his thoughts together. There was no way that the entirety of his soul could simply be spilled over coffee and waffles on the outskirts of Vegas. But she had come, knowing what he was going to say, and he supposed that was something.

Something had to count for, well... something. 

He watched her under the veils of his eyelids; she added cream and sugar to both their coffee and stirred. She knew how he took his coffee and it unsettled him. With the faint scratch of porcelain on the tabletop she slid his mug to him and waited for him to drink. He didn't, so she did, and when she was through with that, she spoke. "I'm fine, you know that."

Irony was never something that Grissom could deal with easily. It didn't seem to be a natural occurrence. Irony made him believe in chance and superstition, two things that almost frightened him more than Sara did.

Maybe she didn't love him. Maybe she'd grown to love him even more, he couldn't tell because he couldn't see her eyes, didn't want to see her eyes.

"You're not fine, I'm not fine." Grissom paused and clamped his jaw tightly. "You're not fine."

Sara's brow lifted but she didn't want to press him. She'd do this on his terms since he was the one to finally suggest actually talking. The waffles came and Sara pushed her food around on her plate while Grissom didn't touch his. Not letting hers go to waste, she added syrup and some whipped cream and began cutting her waffles up into little pieces. "Maybe you should eat," she deadpanned, spearing a piece of the food and shoving it into her mouth.

Grissom's eyes flitted to hers briefly and then back down his plate. Regarding the golden confection wearily, he added an adequate amount of syrup and began cutting it up.

"So, care to tell me..." she began with a quirky little smile that made him perk up, just a bit. "Anything?"

Grissom tested his coffee and leaned back in the booth. "I saw you die."

"Griss, I... don't know what to tell you. I'm pretty sure I'm alive."

"In my head, Sara. I saw you die in my head." Sara eyed him cautiously. She wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to say to her.

"I go to bed every night wanting you." The way his words came out it sounded like he was talking about the coffee, the waffles in front of him, the Cubs. It sounded so banal and so basic that Sara nearly missed the implication of his words. But how was she supposed to react to that? Was there even an adequate way to go about answering. She didn't know, she didn't know...

"Okay..."

Grissom placed his hands at his temples and pressed there, squeezing his eyes shut as he spoke his next words, still confused, still so scared. "And then I wonder why I just want and don't have..." His voice was wistful and lovely and she wanted to wrap herself in it, if only for a moment.

"And why is that?" An honest question, and one she felt that she was obligated to hear.

Grissom pursed his lips and finished the coffee. "I don't know actually. Maybe there isn't a reason and I think there is, who knows."

Sara bit the side of her lips and tucked her arms across her chest. She held his gaze for a moment and then glanced out the window, mindless of the harsh sunlight filtering in. "You know."

Grissom smiled, Sara didn't smile back. "I don't."

"Okay, well... if that's all you can say then I guess we're still at something of an impasse."

"Two roads diverge in a single wood and I, I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference," Grissom said, leaning forward in the booth, mindful of the tiny upturn of her lips, the softening of her eyes.

"I think I'll ignore the fact that you just referred to me as the overgrown and frightening path." She licked a smudge of syrup off of her upper lip with her tongue. She licked her lips and he was seeing colors, so on the verge of tears, ready to give into the spectrum and break down.

Grissom began, with a chuckle, "You are frightening!" He continued to laugh and her slight smile turned into a brilliant grin.

Sara leaned in and grasped his hands again. "I'm not overgrown." Then she paused and thought about what she had just said. "That sounded incredibly awkward, forget I said it."

They were both silent for a few more moments and Sara dropped her eyes to the hideous tablecloth and studied it for long minutes. Grissom's thumb eventually snaked around and began brushing the top of her hand. "You die every night in my head..." he whispered.

Sara's eyes met his slowly, her hand grasping his thumb and squeezing tight. "Well then, maybe we should work on that," she replied with a sweet smile. 


	3. II

The duo made their way out into the early afternoon sun. Having spent most of the morning talking over the past few years in their relationship, both were tired.

Sara paused twice on the way to her car in order to release a huge yawn, and Grissom watched on in curiosity, simply taking in the essence of her living. It was something that he had missed-her being human, so very amazingly alive. For all that he had overlooked about her, he'd forgotten to realize how rejuvenating her passion was.

Shaking her head, she attempted to rid herself of the cobwebs of sleep creeping into her head. It was all for naught and she leaned back as she began walking, stretching the sleep from her limbs. Grissom held off from placing his hand on her back; they weren't there yet. They would be there eventually, he knew.

Their vehicles were a few cars apart, and they reached hers first. The two paused by the trunk, Sara placing her hands on the warm metal. "See you tonight, then?" She asked him, the question more of a facade for the meaning behind it. 'So we're still okay, then?' she had wanted to ask, but couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"Of course, where else would I be?"

They both smiled awkwardly and Sara turned to go. Before she could get more than an inch, he grabbed her hand, squeezing gently and allowed his awkward smile to turn into a grin. "I'll see you tonight."

Her head tilted to the side and she regarded him behind her sunglasses. "Bye..."

Inside, in the stifling heat of her vehicle, she placed her cheek against the hot leather of the steering wheel and forgot to feel; he had made her do so much of that already that the aftershocks of his words were still running through her like electric currents.

Inside his vehicle, Grissom gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He stared forward into the deep green of the dumpster resting in front of his truck. He felt ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter and his head tingled with a wonderful sensation of fulfillment.

They both slept evenly that afternoon, Sara falling asleep with a smile, Grissom drifting off with a deep sigh.

The dynamic between the two of them didn't change when they saw each other that evening. A casual hello was their greeting, but a warm smile accompanied it, making them both feel all the much better. It was odd how such a simple gesture could mean so very much. And neither of them made too much of it, nor too little, they just appreciated the little flash of teeth to the fullest extent.

For once, finally, their eyes were open to the other, his more than hers. True, his vision was gained through slits and hers through eyes wide open... but still, they saw each other for exactly what they should have.

That evening, on a case with Warrick, he remembered Sara young and slightly innocent in her hideous tie-dye shirt, hungover but attentive. He'd noticed the jug of water by her feet, which she chugged in between lengthy questions. Two weeks after the first lecture she'd confessed to him that her roommate had convinced her to a particularly wild party by telling her it was a study session. She'd confessed that she did indeed have fun, but she was having more fun discussing gestation periods with him on the benches. There, right then and there, her honesty shown through her brown eyes and he was captured.

Bugs and beauty... and then beauty. Some sort of odd glory radiating from her. She hadn't been glamorous, she hadn't been stunning... no, she still wasn't. Well, not to anyone but him. The brown was rich and warm and he knew that those two eyes were the only ones he could ever fall into-just because it was her. She'd always been honest. She'd been caring and true, even when she'd barely known him, she'd trusted.

They'd made odd friends, so very odd.

Sara had attempted to cook him dinner one night, just for fun and ended up burning the chicken. Laughter came naturally and they both accepted it and took the salad onto her dilapidated deck and ate straight out of the large bowl, laughing and speculating and drinking wine down so fast that they wondered where it went.

That night he wanted to kiss her and she had wanted to receive, but a current was in her, one that told her the moment wasn't right. There would be a time for all of that later, later when their want was more than anything they could define. Still, they had sat that night and talked of beetles and blood spatter and anything but the fact that he was so much older than her. Anything but the real crackle in the air between them.

Neither could explain it. They still couldn't... but they tried, because they were scientists. She was amazingly smart and driven and energetic. And he, well he was brilliant and handsome and nothing she'd ever experienced, ever.

The two of them had left the lab together that night, walking over to their cars together; their hands were close, but far and she couldn't help but feel warmth at their proximity; a thirty four year old woman scared of herself, of the only man she'd ever really want to be with, it amused her and so she smiled.

Somehow, he too understood. A man nearing fifty finally understanding what it meant it to want and need; A fifty year old man opening his heart in a way he didn't think he was capable of...

Again, they reached her car before his and he tugged on her arm before she could even step in between her car and his. They were hugging in the middle of the parking lot and it felt oddly right. Sara didn't care what happened then, and buried her head into his neck, not caring, no, no, no...not caring if he pulled away just as long as she had the chance to hold him in that manner. His hand stroked slowly against her lower back and she sighed, her hot breath cascading across his neck.

"You have to go now, or I'll kiss you..." Grissom murmured, squeezing her one last time before backing up a bit.

Sara ducked her head and nodded. She wanted him to kiss her, but again, there was a time and a place and a feeling that had to be present. Their kiss wouldn't be perfect, but it would be right, they would both be so sure of that.

That night on a case with Nick and Catherine, she remembered him guiding her from the lecture hall, his hand barely grazing her back. She'd experienced a near orgasm them, simply from his voice and touch. Regaining her breath, she promised not to overreact and hadn't. No, she just fell in love.

The sugar in her coffee was much sweeter when he was around, the conversation deeper, livelier.

She had silly little girlish fantasies that all girls-all women-had. It was nice, it was comfortable, and it felt right.

It didn't, however, feel so right when she couldn't fall to sleep at night because she was thinking of him. It wasn't right when she thought beyond the course material and began to speculate on what aftershave he wore.

Numbers were exchanged, hers first. 'You're giving your number to your husband,' her mind told her at the time. She went home that night and cried like a fifteen year old, dumped on the night of the prom. She was a wreck and admonished herself for thinking such an insane thing. But it was what she had felt...

One, two, three years and they were friends. She was eating a candy cane when he called to ask her to Vegas. It was stale and gummy but she bit down on it hard when he'd asked her home-to Vegas rather. Sara had quipped something witty and dry and he'd laughed. And that was why she had agreed, because he had laughed and she pictured his face so, broken in a delightful smile; it was silly for her to then think it would be like that forever.

They were indefinable. Their want was indefinable, and he wanted to feel her lips on his. 


	4. III

_Marlou, as always, kicks ass in ways that I can't describe. Readers and reviewers... you kick ass as well.

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_  
They day had gone on easily enough. There was a hit and run that Sara and Greg were put on, while Grissom seemed eager to get to a murder scene with Sofia. Sara was surprised that she didn't feel threatened... and she liked it. On the way to the scene, Greg insisted on a mini sing along to Piano Man, and Sara was delighted when she actually began singing along.

The earth was off kilter, wobbling on it's finite axis. He'd called her a week later in the morning when she had gotten home, just to make sure that she had made it in safely. She cold hear his gentle smile in his voice and she called him overprotective.

He told her that everything was about to change; he couldn't wait to see the light break over her face when everything changed. Grissom told her in soft tones and lovely intonations that he wanted to be the one to set her heart beating faster, the one who she thought about before she went to sleep. Sara had told him that he already was.

Silence was a lovely pause in their conversation and she'd gulped down some Aquafina to rectify the desert in her mouth. Fantastically paced and gloriously lilted he replied, "Then I want to be the last person you see before you fall asleep."

She'd nearly dropped the phone, the sex dripping from his voice wrapping around her throat, rending her perfectly incapable of speech. They'd yet to go on a date or see each other away from the delicate symbiosis of work, and here he was, insinuating himself next to her in bed; damn, she liked that thought.

The two had hung up with mutual good night, but Grissom cut in with a 'sweet dreams' and her stomach gave a little flutter before protesting it's emptiness.

If there was something that she consistently forgot, it was how quickly Grissom could throw her off guard, which was why when he called her on the way to her scene, she'd nearly swivered off the road. "Come to David's wedding with me," he mumbled, by way of a greeting. Greg's eyes were on her face, worried about her erratic driving, and he mouthed to ask her who she was talking to.

Sara flushed and smiled, mouthed 'Grissom' to him and spoke into the phone. "I'll talk to you when we get back to the lab." And with that she had hung up and turned her phone on silent. She sang along with the rest of the song, but didn't belt out how the piano sounded like a carnival with as much gusto as she usually did.

There was a case to attend to, crimes to be solved... but for the rest of the evening, Sara continued to hear his velvety voice in her ear, asking her out.

She returned to the lab, windblown and evidence laden, tired beyond what was reasonable for her. Tea and a hot bath beckoned upon her arrival at home. But her slow and sluggish pace through the halls of CSI made her an easy target for a roaming Grissom on a mission. And he was on a mission-he had been thinking about what he was about to do constantly, all evening.

"Come to David's wedding with me," Grissom said suddenly right there in the middle of the lab, stoping her forward motion with a hand on her forearm. Sara blanched and turned to him slowly. This was slightly out of the ordinary... okay, extremely out of the ordinary. Though even as she realized how insane he was acting, she pictured his hand deliciously low on her back, guiding her along to some forgotten song under the watchful gae of co-workers.

She began slowly, "I'm... not sure if I'm even going..." There had to be a buffer there, something to stop all the want that was flowing from her.

"Yes, but come with me," Grissom continued, a hint of sadness in his tone and in his eyes. His hand, which was stationary on her arm, began to slide over her skin there, his thumb massaging her. They were nearly hand in hand in the middle of the crime lab, oblivious to the people who buzzed around them.

"What... are you... saying?"

Grissom's mouth twitched and he pursed his lips. This was so much simpler than he had made it all out to be. "Be my date," he said, matter-of-factly. His face was bright and expectant and it grazed her heart, making it bleed just a little, tiny bit.

Sara nodded slowly, and pulled them both out of the middle of the corridor, overto the wall. "We're both going to be there, anyway."

"Be my date," he murmured, low. "Let me pick you up, dance with me, Sara. Let me open the door for you and hold your hand." Grissom mumbled something and squeezed her arm. "We can be normal for a night, together. It'll be good."

Sara sighed and wanted to smile very, very badly, but didn't know if what he was proposing was really a good idea or not. "Griss, I was gonna... stick around here in case swing and days can't-"

Grissom cut her off abruptly. "Days can handle the shift for one night. Come on Sara, be my date."

Sara's eyes lit with some sort of foriegn flame and she glanced up and down the hall, grabbed Grissom's wrist and tugged him into questioned documents. "Are you insane," she rushed in a clipped whisper.

"Yes," came his immediate answer.

Sara shook her head quickly as if his answer wasn't adequate. "No, I mean, asking me this at work, calling me on a case, are you insane? This isn't like you, at all." Her hands were gesuring wildly and he reached out to stop them. Sara was so very confused by his actions (not that she wasn't loving them, she was just confused as hell).

Grissom took a few deep breaths. "I've just realized I want you with me. That's all." Grissom smiled at her, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "Just come to David's wedding with me."

Sara backed up a few inches and attempted to wrap her mind around what was happenning. "You can't do this here, you can't ask me out at work Grissom, you-"

"Fine," Grissom said, bouncing on his heels. "Breakfast this morning, my place." And with that he left her standing amidst anonymus evidence, incredibly, overwhelmingly confused.


	5. IV

Her feet felt foreign to her as she walked up the gravel path to Grissom's townhouse. The mulch surrounding the stairs was so very out of place, in stark contrast to the deep blue that the exterior was painted. She wondered if the interior was still that stoic white...

Her feet were leaden and weary unlike the rest of her body which was on fire with anticipation. When she knocked on the door, the wood felt like it was kissing her skin. She rolled her eyes at her own mushiness. 'Really though, get a life,' she told herself.

The door opened to reveal him, relaxed and smiling. Yes, that was when she began to hate him, just a bit; well, she didn't hate him, she just didn't understand how he could be so steady and carefree all of a sudden. 'He'd make a great actor,' she thought and said hello. She felt like she was in a waking dream, some insane world where everything was topsy-turvy.

Surprisingly, he'd chosen o cook, to make dinner in the morning. When she'd switched to nights her eating habits were all screwed up and she found herself eating eggs and toast at two in the afternoon and pasta at seven in the morning. Sara didn't much have a set eating schedule anymore, but she did know one thing-she was damned hungry.

There was no meat, sign one that he meant business. He tended to overlook those tiny details. Various vegetables and spices and dishes were spread across the countertops in his kitchen and she regarded them as rare space tools she had never seen before. Sara Sidle had been hit upside the head with a shiny new frying pan and was seeing stars. The stars spun at the speed of light when she saw the lilies on the table and felt his hand fall to her back, ushering her into his kitchen.

He served vegetarian chili and crisp wheat toast pieces in a big green bowls and she didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to say so she just stared at the food before her. He stared at her as she stared at the beans and tomatoes, looking nearly catatonic. It was all very nearly too much.

"Something wrong," he asked, flicking his toast with an index finger.

Instead of snapping her head up in attention, she kept staring and answered him slowly, "No, no, not at all." Sara paused for a moment, gliding a finger over the neck of her spoon. Of course there was something wrong! How did he not see that there was something wrong? "Okay, yes!" She swirled the spoon around the edge of the bowl, but it didn't go far before catching on a bean and stopping its hiss against the porcelain.

Grissom simply quirked a brow at her and not minding his manner, placed his elbows on the table in front of him. "What?"

"Grissom, everything in the past few weeks has been... insane." Sara nodded and picked at her toast, attempting not to become hysterical. But it was a very thin line to tread... very thin. Sara was insane with indecision. She wanted to jump right in with him, grab the buoy that he had thrown and be tugged in. But on the other hand, she wanted to hold off, wait to see if she could tread the waters without his help. "Insane..."

Grissom blinked slowly and went right on eating, "Not really..."

"Yes, because asking me to accompany you to a wedding and cooking me dinner... breakfast... whatever is very much normal for you." A loud bite of the toast accentuated her words. Sara chewed violently, regretting it when her teeth caught and grated against one another. "Nothing's normal..." she murmured and toyed again with her spoon.

He shrugged and took a bite of his chili. "You don't want to come with me." Grissom reasoned, his voice falling just a tiny bit. It appeared that the chili had become the most interesting thing on the planet as he stared at the beans and sauce, refusing to lift his eyes until she spoke.

She did want to come with him, but that wasn't the point. "Yes, I want to go with you but-"

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is, Grissom," she felt like she was speaking with a three year old. Didn't he realize how odd he was acting? "That this is coming out of nowhere." Sara said, pausing to gulp from her glass of water. "I mean, you just up and decide-"

But Grissom was up out of his seat and in front of her and she paused in what was going to be a very solid and coherent argument. Her eyes widened. "What, what did I-" But he was kissing her then and she was so confused and dizzy that she nearly passed out. His lips were more than eager on hers, if somehow trying to prove a point. And they were, they were telling her he meant business.

Sara's eyes fluttered closed as she succumbed to insanity of the situation. Nothing was happening as she had ever expected it to and maybe that was why she felt so giddy. His hands came up to skate over her cheeks and her eyes popped open.

Sara pulled out of the kiss and Grissom stood back, smiling. They looked at each other for a moment, the reality of the situation seeming to kick Grissom in the head. "I can't believe I just did that," he muttered and stared at her. And for some reason those words cracked something inside of her, she knew euphoria was short lived.

"I can't believe I did that," he said again and then smiled. "I want to do it again." So he did, just like that, bent down and swallowed her words. Sara laughed into his mouth when his tongue begged entrance and he too smiled against her lips. Perhaps he'd come to know the strange loveliness of the situation. Perhaps, just maybe his head was spinning too.

She didn't know, didn't care because he was sinking to his knees and holding her face with his hands, kissing her so softly, so passionately. He was some sort of lovely martyr on his knees in front of her, giving and giving.

They kissed, and eventually she sunk to the floor as well and wrapped her hands around his neck, cupped the back of his head, ran her fingers through his hair. The linoleum warmed under their bodies and it was long minutes before Sara realized how much her knees had begun to hurt.

They pulled away, flushed and in awe. "Yeah," she sighed and swallowed. "I'll go with you..."

Grissom stood up and helped her to her feet and simply gazed at her for a minute. Sara didn't quite know what to say or do so she just let him look at her while she tried to get the butterflies in her stomach under control. Grissom stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you," he said and pulled her into a hug.

When Sara got home that evening she went online and made sure that the earth was still spinning on its axis.


	6. V

Thank you to... Emmakins (new nickname for you everytime)... Mr. Cheesefires (I thought that would die out too Marlou but hey, it's still here...) and Radish (Lauren, who is currently vay-caying it up. Let's all watch as I glare menacingly to the north in hopes that she can somehow sense my contempt...)

* * *

Sara slipped the dress on and awkwardly reached around and zipped it up. Smoothing her hands over the fabric, she looked at herself in the mirror. The dress came to just below her knees, the hem frilling around just a bit. The straps were incredibly thin and cross-sectioned her freckles, making her arms look impossibly long. The dip in the back came to just above her bra line and in the front it cut down modestly in a vee, accentuating her collarbones. A little flowery number, she never thought she'd see the day. 

Overall, it was a nice dress, even if it did make her feel a tad conspicuous.

Her hair was curled and twisted up loosely.

Sara turned from side to side, examining herself at every angle she could. Damn, did she feel strange wearing such a feminine dress. Sara secured a small pearl necklace around her neck and scrutinized her appearance. Sara felt entirely too frail standing there in the dainty outfit. Slowly, she slipped flat sandals on her feet and bit her lip.

Lipstick! She needed lipstick...

Convincing herself that she looked just fine, Sara went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, needing something to keep herself busy while she waited.

She opened the door to him and was greeted with a soft image: Grissom dressed in tan worsted wool, looking relaxed and happy. The brilliant gold luster of the silk of his tie made his skin shine and the deep cornflower blue of the shirt made his eyes look so much deeper. Yes, she wanted to swim in them.

But Sara just smiled a tiny smile and stepped back to allow him into her home. "I, just... let me grab my sweater..." Sara said and reigned in her grin as his seemed to widen.

Quickly, she scurried off into the bedroom, glanced in the mirror again and smiled at herself. She felt fourteen and in that moment, she loved it.

Returning to the living room, she was met with the pleasant sight of Grissom's back, his hands in his pockets as he glanced around at her furnishings. Sara stood back and just watched him for a moment and listened to him breathe; did he sound that peaceful when he slept?

Moving towards him slowly, he turned to face her. "Hm, ready to go?" He asked, taking the sweater from his hands, holding it out for her. Blushing, she shrugged it on, dipped her head and moved towards the door nodding.

The low afternoon sun glinted off his sunglasses as he put them on. A hand fell to the small of her back as they walked towards the car. "You look... different," he said, his voice gravelly.

Different? Well, she supposed she could deal with different, even if that hadn't been what she had hoped for. "And gorgeous," he whispered in her ear, dipping his head low and placing his hands on her shoulders. Though his words were warming and welcome, she was still nervous of his behavior. Doing all she could to suppress the urge to once more ask him 'why', she climbed into his car and sat back, a thousand scenarios running through her head as to how the day would eventually end.

The wedding was a simple affair, being held on the grounds of the Pahruhmp Colonial Country Club. Lilacs and gardenia flanked the aisles and tangled in Sara's nose in such a lovely way. It had been some time since she had attended a wedding and had forgotten what a lovely time they could be. 'Lovely,' exactly how she almost felt.

They were seated on the groom's side, abreast Catherine and Warrick. Nick and Greg and their dates were somewhere up front, having arrived earlier. Sara glanced around at the guests on the bride's side. Most looked slightly withdrawn, save for the pair of punks sitting towards the back, talking quietly. David's wife-to-be Gillian was a librarian, a rather demure, plain woman. Her traits seemed to extend to the rest of her guests.

Grissom had placed his hand on her knee and she turned to look down at the source of the warm touch. He smiled at her when she glanced up to meet his eyes. The nerves which had been plaguing her for the past few weeks had begun to settle, to become acclimated to his warm glances and even warmer touches. So, she smiled back and leaned into him, just a bit.

The traditional music started to play and the bridesmaids and ushers filtered out. Sara briefly wondered if she'd ever get the chance to be involved in a wedding, even if it was someone else's.

It was all very adorable, especially when David blushed furiously as he recited his vows. The stark innocence of his face made Sara smile and lean into Grissom's side. There was 'awww'ing and clapping and the newlyweds walked down the aisle and the guests trailed off the lawn to the clubhouse complex.

As she stood, Sara had turned to Catherine to make a comment and felt Grissom's hand twine into hers slowly. Catherine's eyes were drawn slowly down, as were Warrick's. The couple looked up at Sara at the same time, missing Grissom squeezing her hand. Sara merely gave a hint of a smile and asked what table they were at.

The foursome was joined by Nick and Greg and the group made their way across the grass, Catherine having to stop intermittently to pull her stiletto from the grass. Greg introduced everyone to Naomi, his date; she was a graduate of Stanford too, an art history major going for her masters so she could teach. Nick was accompanied by Judy, the perky little receptionist at his side, grasping his hand much like Grissom was holding Sara's.

And something about the relaxed nature of her friends, of the pleasant cool of the day and the delightfulness of the event that had taken place made the moths flutter up in Sara's stomach. She felt... nice. Not amazing or brilliant, just relaxed and nice and normal. "You okay," Grissom asked as they trailed behind the group.

God, he looked so suave, so undeniably handsome... and all she could think of was undressing him. "I'm... I'm good," came her answer as she looked over the golf course at the red rocks of the mountains in the distance.

Grissom pulled her aside, behind a row of bushes and brought her in for a startlingly erotic kiss. "Walking on the wild side I see," Sara muttered when they broke apart to rejoin the group. Oh, his hand was so firm in hers, so right, so fitting. Grissom chuckled and pulled her to him, draped an arm around her shoulders and made his way over to Warrick, who was grabbing a drink from the bar.

The guests milled about the veranda, chatting, holding plates of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. "I'll be right back," Grissom said to her and she nodded, moving to sit down next to Nick.

Nick looked from Sara over to his boss and then back to Sara. "What... is going on?"

"Huh?" Damn, she liked watching that man go... She pulled her eyes back to Nick and shook the lewd thoughts from her head.

Nick smiled knowingly at her. "Never thought I'd see the day..." Nick mumbled, winked and turned to Judy who was attempting to nudge a beer into his hand. She wanted to tell him, 'Neither did I,' but held off as Grissom returned with a martini in each hand, holding one out to her.

As much as she wanted to pretend to be invested in the conversation that was taking place around her-something about discovering a torso on a golf course-she couldn't help but think she'd honestly been pulled into a parallel dimension where things were normal and she was having a good time just being human, but when Grissom slung his arm around the back of her chair and began gesturing wildly to the group, she decided once and for all...

She didn't care. Beggars couldn't be choosers and in this case, beggars couldn't define what normal was even if they wanted to.

They ate dinner, they watched the cake being cut; Catherine took numerous pictures and even convinced David to dance with her. Nick twirled Gillian around the floor, just because he could and told her that David was a very lucky man indeed. Everyone danced; Sara fell into Warrick's arms more than once and was passed to Brass and Nick; Greg of course had his chance with her, as did David and the punk teenager even got her to boogie down with him.

Sara danced with Grissom once, when the floor was tightly packed, so no one would take much notice of how his hand slipped over her back and how he whispered in her ear and made her shiver with delight. Sinatra crooned out a song and Grissom hummed along, allowing his mouth to fall on her shoulder once, twice, three times... and kiss her there.

Her head lolled back a bit and he kissed her neck slowly.

This was too good to be a dream. She had to be dead or... perhaps high or insanely drunk. Oh, but she didn't care what she was as long as he held her close like that for a good long time.

She drove her back to her apartment, the windows down, her hair being tousled by the soft gentle breeze. Sara felt like she was in some sort of updated fairy tale, one she didn't wish to end. Her hand out the window, it skated along the current, dancing in the night.

She hopped daintily from the car, wanted to skip but refrained. She turned to say goodnight to Grissom but he was already out of the car, walking around the car to meet her on the gravel path. Sara gave him one look and just kissed him, launched herself at his lips and kissed him deeply He kissed back, grasping her around the waist and holding the soft warmth to him.

Sara tore her lips away from his to breathe, but Grissom just kept kissing her; her cheeks, her neck, her hair. "I, I would, I would invite you up, I would... but that would be a bad idea."

Grissom nodded against her skin, chuckling a bit. "Yeah, bad idea..." His tongue traced along her earlobe and she slammed him back into the passenger side door and ground up against him; she laughed against his lips as he gripped her shoulders and tried to wrap his mind around what was happening.

"Bad, bad, bad," she whispered and snaked her hand down and cupped him through his pants. Grissom's eyes snapped open and a feral groan ripped up from his throat.

Grissom pressed up against her and spun them around, pinning her against the car, grinding into her. "Decision time," Grissom said, pulling back, his hands on her face, looking in her eyes.

"Hmmm, depends... how do you take your coffee in the morning?"


	7. End

Thanks Emmakins for da beta.

* * *

As it turned out, Grissom took his coffee black in the morning… but they didn't have coffee in the morning. It was the early afternoon before either of them made a trek out of bed. When Sara did, she nearly yelped with pain; every muscle in her body ached terribly, her thighs mostly. 

Grissom had tried not to over-stimulate her, but truly couldn't help himself. There was something about wanting and needing a woman that made a man need to know every part of her intimately. Grissom didn't stop before he'd made a thorough exploration of her entire body.

She was raw, but so very much loved that it didn't matter that she had to limp to the bathroom. Sara rummaged around the medicine cabinet for a couple of aspirin and stuck her mouth under the tap to swallow them. Upon standing and glancing in the mirror, she was shocked at the flush on her face, the purple bruises on her neck, her chapped lips. Damn, he'd worked her over good. She twisted around and got a glimpse of her back; slight scratches ran up and down her pale back. That was it, she was lost it in a fit of laughter.

Sinking down on the toilet, she dropped her face into her hands. Unbe-freaking-lieveable. Sex, with Grissom, surreal. She tried to remember the night bit for bit, but could only gather glimpses inside her mind. It had all been so wonderful, but had passed by so quickly and that couldn't seem to firmly grasp the situation.

Would it happen again? Dare she hope?

There was a hesitant knock at the door, "Sara?" He asked, leaning into the door so he could hear her. "Are you uh, are you crying?" He sounded so confused that she couldn't help it, she laughed harder. The laughter sounded more akin to sobs to him so he quickly opened the door to find her red faced and giddy, bouncing on the toilet cover, grasping the sink to keep from falling off.

"I, uh, Sara?" he asked, leaning down to catch her eyes. She lifted a finger to hold him off for a minute and allowed her laughter to die down.

When it had passed, she swallowed hard and looked up at him. Grissom, still disheveled from sleep, was looking at her with a gaze of such concern that it broke her heart. Sara kissed him deeply, ignoring the morning breath, allowing him to steal her tongue from her mouth. "Never thought this'd happen," she taunted, whispering against his lips.

Grissom shut her up, adding more force to his kiss, wrapping his arms around her, helping her to stand. "Bed, want you in bed," he rasped, walking her backwards into her bedroom and tossing her onto the bed.

"Naked, now," he ordered, helping her peel off her tee-shirt and panties. "Love you, honey," Grissom uttered before leaning down to kiss her belly button.

Sara missed his words first, simply moaning in response. After a moment, however, they finally sunk in and she pushed her hair out of her eyes and balanced herself on her elbows. "What?"

"What?" Grissom parroted and stopped the trail of his hands over her hips.

Sara set her neck straight and stared him down, "You just said something, what was it?"

Grissom bit his lip and leaned his forearms on the bed for support. And thus the internal war waged; he hadn't meant to say it, but there it was, up close and personal. It wasn't like he could take them back either. He wanted to say them, really, but he'd wanted to wait for a more appropriate time, one when they weren't naked and sweaty and about to have sex for the fourth time in the past twelve hours.

"Nuh," he began, looming over her. "Nothing, I didn't say anything."

Sara eyed him wearily, disappointed. "Oh, okay," and with that she leaned back on the bed and waited for him to continue with whatever he'd begun.

Grissom didn't move, just sat and watched her chest rise and fall. "I said, I love you," Grissom stated, finality in his tone.

She continued to lie there, staring at the ceiling. Dear God he wanted her to say something, anything, just respond. "Really?" she asked, again, staying perfectly still, leaving the ball in his court.

Clearing his throat, he admitted fully to his admission and nodded his head. "Yes. I uh, I love you."

"Because you don't sound so sure..."

Grissom growled and crawled over her, placing his lips on her breast, above her heart. "I love you," he swore, kissing her there, but looking up at her, making sure she could see what he meant there in his eyes.

It was a long time coming, but the smile that dawned on her face was the most brilliant he was sure he'd ever seen. "That's okay then, me loving you?" he asked, dragging his hands up her body to her face. Sara pretended to think about it for a moment, but then she laughed and he kissed her lightly.

"Only if it's you know, okay that I love you back, and maybe more..."

Grissom laughed and hovered over her. "That's not possible."

"I beg to differ," she challenged, rolling her hips to meet his and then they were joined. A cackle left her throat as he pumped into her and she brought her arms up around his neck. "You are, without a doubt... so good."

He agreed, kissing her. "Mmm, yeah."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in bed, and when the sun slipped low on the horizon they shared a shower, getting soap in each other's eyes and slipping around. It was fun, it was normal. And when it was all over, they drove to his townhouse so he could change clothes before shift.

They ended up having a little tryst against his front door before he actually changed the clothes, but neither one was worse for the wear. Eventually they made it to work, only ten minutes early but no one seemed to notice.

She stopped him at the doorway to headquarters, grabbed his hand so that he turned to face her. "So, we're really in this? For real?"

"Day by day, Sara. That's all we need to stick to, day by day." Grissom muttered, plucking the sunglasses from his face. He glanced around to make sure no one was coming. Quickly, he leaned in and kissed her deeply, pulling away breathless to steal down the halls of CSI with a smile on his face.

Day by day. Well, that could mean this wonderful, incredibly dysfunctional relationship would last a week, maybe a year, possibly a lifetime. But day by day... yeah, she could do that.

And yet when he kissed her he tasted of pomegranate and peppermint... and more than a little bit of promise.


End file.
